The Louisiana
by DarthGabithaTheHutt
Summary: Sequel to CreepyAss Orchard of Death. When Dean and Sara reunite, their plans to relax are disrupted as they find themselves stuck on a haunted ship. Preseries, no pairings. Completed 29th September
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Sequel to _Creepy-Ass Orchard of Death. _When Dean and Sara reunite, their plans to relax are disrupted as they find themselves stuck on a haunted ship. Pre-series, no pairings.

Note: Sara Lucian was first introduced in _Creepy-Ass Orchard of Death. _She is the daughter of an exorcist, Amelia Lucian, and is just about to begin training to become an exorcist herself. She first met Dean the year prior to this story, as told in _Creepy-Ass Orchard of Death. _

xxx

_July 1__st__, 1999_

_Grant County, Wisconsin _

Amelia Lucian, without getting up from her desk, stretched the kinks out of her back. She was getting too old to spend so long sitting in one place. The thought made her smile; she was only thirty seven, after all, although that was ancient for a Lucian. She'd already beaten her father's record by three years. Sighing, she pulled the map back towards her. This case wasn't going to solve itself, after all.

When the phone rang ten minutes later, she was about to tear her own hair out.

"Caleb, I told you- Oh, sorry, John. Yeah, the damn arms' dealer won't shut up. Couldn't you just do the world a favour and shoot him or something? Well, there must be other places you could get ammo." She held the phone in place with her shoulder and rifled through the papers littering her desk. "Ok, we have unconfirmed sightings of skin-walkers in South Dakota. Bobby Singer's looking for back-up, if you're interested. And a haunted house in Iowa, but I haven't had time to look too closely at that one."

Her gaze fell on the calendar, on the circle around the tenth of July. And then on the sketchy notes, slightly separated from the other piles.

"Well, there is something you could do for me, John. Is that boy of yours around?"

xxx

_July 10__th__, 1999_

_England_

Sara gave her ankle-length black skirt a tug, making sure the hem brushed her feet, and smoothed her blouse down before carefully pulling on her smart jacket.

"So, do I pass inspection?" she asked her best friend, turning around.

Lucy gave her a critical once-over, brushing some invisible specks of dust off Sara's shoulders, before nodding. "You'll do. Are you excited?"

"It's my last day of school. Of course I'm excited." Sara turned back to the mirror. "Hair up or down?"

"Definitely up. So, who's coming to cheer for you today as you collect your awards in the big assembly?"

"Subtle."

Lucy put her on her best innocent face. "What?"

"Who started this round of 'Let's watch out for Sara'?"

"We're just worried about you, Sara. With your mum in America-"

"I know, I know. And I appreciate it, in my own unappreciative way. But, far as I know, no one's coming."

"Well, your friends are proud of you, if nothing else."

Sara smiled. "Yeah, I know."

Both girls jumped as a bell rang throughout the building.

"Damn, we have to go. Where are you meant to be?"

"Back door, sending people round to the front of the hall," Sara replied. "You?"

"Front door, meeting and greeting." Lucy checked her appearance once more time. "Let's go."

xxx

Lucy kept her smile friendly and welcoming, her gaze travelling over almost identical couples, the men in suits, the women in smart dresses, all looking proud and relaxed. All but one. The latest person to come through the doors walked tall, but looked decidedly uncomfortable in his smart trousers and jacket. No tie, Lucy noted, and no cuff links. No crest on the jacket, either. Four older and two younger brothers had taught Lucy that between the tie, the crest, and the cuffs, you could piece together most of who a man was. But that didn't matter at the moment. She knew this man. Or had seen him before, anyway. In a photo that Sara had kept on her desk since January.

"Excuse me," Lucy called, slipping through the crowd.

"Um, hi," he said with an American accent. "I've, uh, I've got an invitation."

"Who cares?" she replied. "You're Sara's friend, right? Dean?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"She talks about you a lot." Lucy frowned slightly. "But Sara never said you were coming."

"Well, she doesn't know. Kinda a surprise." He smiled, and Lucy had to agree with Sara – it was definitely a nice smile. "Know where she is?"

"She's round back."

Dean gave her another nice smile and slipped back out of the hall's double doors.

xxx

Sara had found a step to sit on, but it was a stone step and extremely uncomfortable. This was such a bullshit assignment. Making sure no one tried to enter the hall from the back? All of the parents coming today had been turning up several times a year for the last seven years! They knew the routine as well as Sara knew the reason for her sitting out here. She was fairly well known amongst the parents, and not always for the best things. In the first year, she'd told the best ghost stories. Later, she'd bullied the PE teachers into setting up shooting and fencing classes and personally taught a couple of friends the basics of self-defence. Whilst the fathers tended to laugh and slap her on the back, the mothers tended to worry. And in anything to do with daughters, the mothers held all the power.

Leaning back, enjoying the sun on her face, Sara's eyes started to drift shut, only to snap back open when she heard the crunch of feet on gravel. It would be just her luck for it to be a teacher. She leapt up, tugging the skirt straight again. But the man walking towards her was certainly not a teacher.

Dean was ever so slightly thrown as he approached Sara. He hadn't actually seen her in a year, and the smartly dressed young woman didn't seem to have anything to do with the kid who'd accompanied him into the Creepy-Ass Orchard of Death. And he had to stop calling it that.

"Damn, you clean up well," he said finally.

And then she smiled at him and she was Sara again, and despite his no-chick-flick-moments rule, Dean didn't feel too bad about giving her a hug that lifted her off her feet.

"What are you doing here?" she asked when he put her down again.

"Came to see you in your moment of glory, of course."

"You came all the way across the Atlantic to see my sixth form prize giving?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Your mom called, told me what was going on, and here I am."

"And you didn't even try to wear jeans. I'm very impressed."

Of course, Dean realised as Sara led him back into the hall and they sat down, he stood out here even in his hated smart clothes. The other men wore their suits with a sort of easy confidence while Dean just felt awkward. He'd rather be in his jeans and leather jacket and to hell with what other people thought, but Amelia had made a point of telling him the dress code for these occasions and his father had made sure that Dean would look presentable at the very least before letting him go.

No one had been more surprised than Dean when John Winchester, the King of Emotional Repression, had let him take two weeks off from hunting to come and visit a friend he hadn't physically _seen_ since the first time they met. Not that Dean was complaining. But maybe John understood it all more than he let on. He'd missed Dean's Graduation, through no fault of his own. Wendigos weren't too bothered about family occasions. But all the other kids there had had their families with them, and Dean hadn't missed the looks of pity that concerned mothers had given him. The standard excuse of, _Dad had to work _nearly got him in trouble on his last ever day of high-school when a father had voiced disapproval, clearly thinking John didn't give a damn about his son, and Dean, clearly thinking the guy was an asshole, nearly decked him.

As Sara found them seats, next to the girl he'd met earlier and who he belatedly realised must be Lucy, and introduced him to Lucy and her parents, Dean noticed the surprised looks people were giving him. It seemed Sara having someone there for her was something of a novelty as well.

"Who cares who he is?" He heard someone say. "The guy is _cute_."

"You'll have to forgive them," Sara murmured. "So long spent in an all-girls school makes them somewhat easily impressed."

"Play nice, Sara," Lucy said from Sara's left. She hadn't heard what Sara had actually said, but seven years taught you a lot about a person.

"Did a girl just stand up for me?"

"Yep. Don't question, accept. Easier," Sara said, grinning. "Trust me."

That comment earned her a one-handed slap round the back of her head from Lucy.

"Younger brothers?" Dean asked her. He recognised that move – it was one of his specialities.

"Two," Lucy replied and jerked a thumb towards a teenager sitting on her other side. "That's Benjy."

"I prefer Ben," the boy said.

"Of course you do, sweetie."

Dean had spent huge amounts of his childhood sitting in the back of the Impala with Sammy, fighting in the brotherly way which involved a fair dollop of violence but a lot of affection as well. The two brothers had it down to a fine art by the time Dean hit double-figures and most of the time John only knew they were fighting because what else would they be doing? But Lucy and Ben were even better than him and Sammy. Their parents, sitting right next to them didn't even notice and from the waist up, the only parts of them visible in the crowded hall, the two were all angelic smiles and neat appearances.

He was about to ask Lucy for a few tips when a woman who screamed 'schoolteacher' even louder than Amelia Lucian walked up onto the stage at the front of the hall. Dean realised, far, far too late, what was coming next.

Speeches.

xxx

Far too many hours later, Dean loaded the last box of Sara's belongings into the Impala's back seat. There was no way in hell he'd spend nine hours on a flying metal deathtrap and there was only one other way to cross the Atlantic. Amelia had paid for the boat tickets, without asking or even offering, saying that Sara loved the car more than Dean and what was the point of only half the team going to get her? And Sara's reaction to seeing the car had been worth the five days spent on the ship, that was for sure. Explaining to his father that the trip to get Sara could take up to two weeks, as opposed to the couple of days that it could have taken, had been easier than Dean had expected as well. John tolerated Dean's fear of flying, probably glad that his son had some human weaknesses, however ridiculous.

He turned to lean against the car as Sara came out of her boarding house. They had both changed out of their smart clothes, and Sara was looking much more like the kid he'd spent time with last summer in her jeans and t-shirt.

Sara waved to Lucy as she drove past with her family. Mr and Mrs Monette had been surprisingly welcoming, automatically including Dean in their invitation for Sara to stay with them for a few days. It seemed Sara had been adopted, with even Ben seeming sad to see her go.

"So," he said after a moment. "You ready to go?"

She nodded, looking around one last time. "Goodbye, Normality, and good riddance. And I can't believe you brought the car."

He shrugged. "Seemed the thing to do."

"And it's appreciated."

The last time Dean had seen her, Sara fiddled with her hair when she was thinking or feeling awkward. Now she had a new habit: rubbing the scar on her right middle finger against her lower lip. She followed his gaze and grinned at him.

"Yeah, that beauty caused quite a stir with the girls."

"Let me guess," he said. "Mugging gone wrong?"

"Well, I could hardly tell them the truth, now could I?"

"I don't know. Could be quite funny, really."

"It would also get me committed, Dean."

"Which would also be quite funny."

Sara slapped his arm, but she was grinning. "I'll remember that when the men in white coats come for you."

"Oh, I'm on very good terms with them."

"Right. And if I ask you why you came by boat rather than by plane, will you lie to me?"

"Probably. Let's go."

xxx

The _Louisiana _wasn't a particularly huge ship, carrying around two hundred passengers across the Atlantic at a reasonable price. Dean had already spent five days on it, bored to tears, but as it was either five days of boredom or nine hours of terror, it hadn't been that bad.

Sara leant against the railing and watched England get further and further away as the _Louisiana _carried her away from her birthplace and on to America. Despite her words to Dean, she would miss some things about her life in England. Not the time spent worrying about her mother and the Atwoods, but the laughing with her friends and the predictability of the days there which had helped her so much when she was still a kid.

Well, she'd just have to make new patterns and habits for herself. Trade the English lessons for ones in cleansings and banishments, swap the gossiping for discussions about weaponry.

No difference at all.

"Am I interrupting?"

Sara glanced sideways at the speaker. A young man, maybe only a few years older than her, leant his elbows on the railing next to her and grinned.

"Nothing important," she replied. "Beside, I could never resist a man in uniform."

The man, dressed as a member of the crew, laughed and offered his hand. "James Pearce."

"Sara Lucian," she said and shook hands.

"So, why is such a delightful woman out here all alone?"

"Hm, an apparently innocent question complete with a compliment, said in a clear tone of voice bordering on the bloody cheeky." Sara raised an eyebrow. "Now, how should I respond?"

"You're meant to giggle coquettishly and blush," James said plaintively.

"Didn't your mother ever warn you about girls who do that?"

"At length. Why do you think I'm so keen to find one?"

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"Oh, the only way you could disappoint me would be to say that the chap with the nice car is more than just a friend."

"Ok, that's not cheeky, that's downright impertinent!" Sara said, fighting back a laugh.

"But adorably so, right?"

"You're a charmer. I tend to dislike charmers." Seeing his forlorn expression, she relented slightly. "But then, I am nothing if unpredictable."

James grinned. "I'll have to remember that. If you'll excuse me?"

Sara waved as he left and went back to staring at the ocean waves. England was still easy to see and suddenly the sight of it annoyed Sara. She wanted to just forget about her 'normal' years, to get to work on what _she _wanted to do. She didn't want her past dangled in front of her like a worm on a hook.

Shaking her head at her own silliness, Sara moved away. Maybe Dean would show her around the _Louisiana _before supper.

xxx

The next morning, Dean rose as early as he nearly always did. Any of his worries about seeing Sara again had been completely crushed by supper the night before, when she'd shown that her sense of wicked humour was intact. And it certainly hadn't been as awkward as the first time they'd met, when she'd arrived home to find him shirtless and armed.

Once he was dressed, he stuck his head around the connecting door between their two tiny rooms. Sara's bed was empty and neatly made.

He finally found her in the ship's small gym, practicing combat moves on the mat-covered floor. For a few moments, Dean just stood by the door, watching her. He knew from last summer that Sara could shoot well and one of the awards she been given the day before had been for representing her school at fencing, but he'd never seen her fight hand-to-hand.

Dean had leant most of his tricks from his father, some from other hunters and a few from the various scraps and brawls he had gotten into at one point or another. He knew how to fight and how to recognise someone who could fight. Sara had obviously been taught by someone who knew their stuff.

Oh, well. It had to be done, didn't it?

He stepped forward silently and aimed a punch at her head.

Sara ducked, spun and faced him, fists held in front of her. "Good morning to you too," she said, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Come on, Sara. We have to fight at least once," he said, grinning.

She hooked one leg around his and yanked, sending him falling to the floor.

"You're right," Sara said, with a smile of her own.

Dean rolled back onto his feet, slightly impressed. But there was no way he was going to lose to a five foot girl. He jabbed forward again. Sara dodged and ducked, never letting him get close enough to use his superior height and strength to force her down.

It was very clear that Sara mostly knew defensive moves. Dean gave her a few openings, mainly to see what she would do, and her reactions were just slightly off. When he grabbed her arm, on the other hand, she half turned, bringing several sensitive areas of his body within striking range of her heel and elbow.

Finally, knowing enough, he waved a hand to call the sparring to a close. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"My games' teacher had a firm belief that every well-bred Englishwoman should know how to kick an attacker's kidneys up through his ears," she replied, rubbing a sore arm.

"Self defence lessons?"

"Yeah, mostly. Adrian taught me a few tricks as well, just in case."

"Well, before we reach the New World, maybe I could show you a few more," Dean offered as they walked out of the gym and back to their rooms. It was lucky they were both such early risers, or they would have to find a decent excuse to explain their little fistfight. And Lord knows that would have been fun.

"Assuming that won't get me on Amelia's blacklist," he added.

"Nah, Mum's kinda given up on that, remember? Besides," Sara said as they reached their doors. "The Atwoods are both still alive and, you know, in one piece."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. Mostly."

xxx

After breakfast, they found a quiet spot on deck. Dean produced a pack of cards from his pocket and started showing Sara card tricks, one eye on the pretty girl sunbathing a short way away. Sara, grinning, didn't comment on the wedding ring the sunbather wore, or when the husband arrived to a passionate embrace.

Sighing, Dean focused on Sara again. She was staring at a point a little over his shoulder. Dean twisted around to see a young man in the _Louisiana's _uniform offering drinks to several passengers.

"Oh, Sara, Sara," he said, shaking his head.

"What?"

"A sailor?"

"What's wrong with that? You're hardly in a position to judge careers. Besides, at least he isn't married."

"I'm ignoring that. See? This is me, ignoring that."

"Noted."

"Know how to play poker?"

"Not very well."

"Excellent!" He dealt the cards out, ignoring her exasperated expression. "So what was your gran like?"

"Okay, random."

Dean shrugged. "Not really. Just wondering what sort of woman could have a daughter like your mom."

"Gran was..." Sara paused, shifted position slightly. "She wasn't a Lucian by blood, you know, she married into the family. Met my grandfather at seventeen, married him at eighteen and buried him at thirty two."

"She knew about everything?"

They were fairly isolated where they were sitting, but Dean kept an eye on the other passengers near them, just in case.

Sara kept her voice low as she continued. "Oh, yeah. She was a psychic, knew all about the monsters under the bed. Spent a long time teaching my mum about mental resistance and stuff, to help with the exorcisms."

"The whole willpower thing?"

"Yep. Some demons try to meddle with your mind, make you see and do things. So, resistance to ideas, kinda helps."

"And she was a psychic? For real?"

Sara nodded. "She was the genuine article. Good with vibes and echoes and so on."

He frowned. "Echoes?"

"Bad events leave echoes, which bad things sometimes latch onto, to feed from. Or something like that."

"Oh, like poltergeists and sites of past atrocities." Dean had heard that theory before, albeit in slightly different terms. "Hey, I thought that sort of thing was genetic?"

"Yeah, Mum has the Shining. Or a little bit of it, anyway. Her instincts are normally pretty accurate. Really helps with tracking down the possessed host. There are a few theories that that's the reason why she's still alive today."

"What about you?"

Sara shrugged. "Don't know. I have weird hunches, sometimes, but nothing really useful."

"So basically, you're even more of a freak that we thought."

"I'm not a freak, I'm eccentric."

"What's the difference?"

"Better breeding," she answered instantly. "So, what's this I hear about your dad taking down a werewolf?"

xxx

Pulling her hair back from her neck, Sara peered in the mirror, looking for the faintest hint of sunburn. She loved her red hair, but pale skin went with it, often resulting in painful sunburn when she wasn't careful. She seemed to have gotten away with it, though.

Sara reached forward and turned on the tap, letting the water run until it warmed up. As the mirror fogged over, she cupped her hands and threw water over her face.

Opening her eyes again, Sara gasped and leapt back, her back slamming into the opposite wall. On the mirror, written in the mist, was a single word.

_Albatross_

Sara flung up her hands to shield her face just as the mirror shattered, pelting her with tiny fragments.

xxx

_Next chapter should be up on the 23rd. Reviews are hugely appreciated!_


	2. Chapter 2

2xxx

Dean stared out at the ocean, hands gripping the railing firmly. He loved the smell of the salt-water. Once, when he was no more than seven or eight, John had taken him and Sammy to the beach one day and the same smell had made his feel safer than he had since before his mother had died. Even at that young age, he'd already learnt the importance of salt, from the protective salt-circles John placed around the doors and windows of whatever temporary home they were currently living in.

Hearing someone giggle, he turned his head slightly. A young girl was skipping a little way along from him, the skipping rope slapping the ground rhythmically. Unlike the other children he had seen on board, all wearing shorts and t-shirts, she wore a white sundress, her long hair kept back by a ribbon. Seeing his look, she smiled at him, showing a gap in her front teeth.

"Your friend's looking for you," she said, still skipping. "She's really needs you help."

"What?"

"Dean!"

Dean's head shot round to see Sara hurrying towards him. She had a small cut on her check.

"What happened?"

"We have a seriousproblem."

xxx

Dean looked at the shattered remains of the mirror and shook his head. This was so typical.

"What did it say again?" he asked finally.

"Albatross," Sara replied. "And I thought you said the boat was clean."

"It was. Nothing weird, not so much as a blood curdling scream in the night. And besides, this is probably your fault."

"How?"

"I'm still working on that." He rubbed his face. "Well, so much for our holiday."

"We did have a whole, what, twenty four hours to ourselves. No wonder something went wrong."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Well, maybe it's just one of those freak incidents, you know? Weird weather or something."

"Yeah, 'cause that applies so often to our lives," Sara said, sounding amused.

"Fair point. So, what are we dealing with then?"

"Ghost? Poltergeist?" She frowned. "But why now? You said nothing happened on the way to England."

"Beats me. God, we need more information."

"We _always _need more information. And how are we going to get it in the middle of the Atlantic?"

Dean smiled slowly as realisation dawned. "There's some display, up in the ballroom. This journey, it's special somehow."

"Special enough to get a spook worked up?"

"Anniversaries do bring out the freaky. Come on, let's go see what we can dig up."

"Uh, Dean?"

"What?"

"You're not... You won't try to salt-and-burn the ship, will you?"

"No! Well," he added after a moment's thought. "Not all of it."

xxx

Twenty minutes later, Sara stared at a wall of photos. Each one showed the crew of the _Louisiana, _the dates going from the first voyage in the '30s to one taken just six months ago. A short distance away, Dean was running his gaze down a passenger list from forty years ago.

"Why do they have all this stuff up anyway?" she asked.

"Ship's last voyage," offered a voice behind her.

An image of the speaker could properly be found in the dictionary, under the heading _Stereotypical Grandfather_. Sara had never known her grandfather. Oliver Lucian had died when Amelia was just fourteen, five years before Sara was born. This man was the sort of grandfather she'd wished for when she was kid and her gran was annoying her. The sort, she'd decided later after meeting a few real grandfathers, that didn't exist.

"Tell me that isn't a premonition," Dean commented.

The old man grinned. "The company's been taken over. The _Louisiana's _too old to keep sailing. Not economically viable."

"You sound like you disagree," Sara said.

"I've been on this ship since I was a boy. A man gets attached."

"So it's your last voyage as well?"

He nodded. "I was going to retire soon anyway."

Behind the man's back, Dean raised his eyebrows at Sara.

"You know," Sara started, giving the man a friendly smile. "I once knew a sailor who refused to sail on the 3rd of March because he was convinced that the ghost of an old commander of his was trying to drown him on that day."

"We are a superstitious lot," the man conceded with a chuckle.

"So are there are any good ghost stories about this ship?"

"Ah, miss, I had you down as a nice young lady!"

Dean snorted.

"Nicer than my friend here at any rate," Sara said, mock-serious.

"So I can see. But no, miss, there are no ghosts aboard the _Louisiana._"

"Nothing?" she asked. "Not a single odd occurrence?"

"All ships are odd in their own way, miss. The _Louisiana _is no different. One of the new boys, James Pearce, swears he keeps hearing a child, playing on the rear deck."

"There are a load of kids on board," Sara pointed out. She hadn't missed the gleam in Dean's eyes. This was important, although she had no idea why.

The man shook his head. "Not on the rear deck. They're not allowed there, not any longer. It's dangerous." Glancing at the clock, the man frowned. "Sorry, I really must be getting back to work."

When he'd left, Dean made straight for the wall of photos, scanning each one eagerly.

"What?" Sara asked.

"Knew it!" he said triumphantly, tapping one photo. "Look."

She did so, seeing the black and white image of a group of sailors with a young girl in their midst.

"She was on the rear deck when you came to find me," Dean continued. "And she knew you were looking for me."

"This picture was taken forty years ago."

"And she hasn't aged a day."

Sara shook her head in disbelief. "The caption, Dean? _The new crewmen and their albatross._"

"We have a winner," he said. "Does it say what her real name was?"

"Nope. Not here, at any rate."

"Were you making up that story about the sailor?"

"Oh, no. He did really think that. I did check it out though, just good old fashioned paranoia and stupidity." Sara rubbed her scarred right finger against her lip. "Hey, did that guy mention a James Pearce?"

xxx

Dean was waiting for Sara in her room when she finally made it back.

"So what did you find out?" he asked.

He was sitting in the room's only chair, so Sara perched on the end of her bed.

"The girl's name was Elizabeth Ward, according to James," she replied. "She was eleven. Forty years ago, she got on the _Louisiana _to go to America, but fell overboard,

drowned. James says he's heard her playing on the rear deck at about midnight, the time they think it happened. But every time he's gone to look, nothing."

"Did they ever recover the body?"

"Nope. Atlantic's kinda big, in case you hadn't noticed."

Dean sighed. "Well, that's just great. We can't salt-and-burn a body that doesn't exist. Oh, exorcism?"

"You don't exorcise a ghost unless it's in someone. You cleanse the site."

"Fine, so cleanse already."

"It's not that simple and you know it," Sara replied.

"Do I?"

"Firstly, me doing anything like this will really piss Mum off, so you have to cover for me. You did it, not me, ok?"

"Yeah, fine," Dean said.

"So then we just need to find some candles and the hotspot, wherever that is." Sara paused and then added, "Oh, and two other people to form the Magnus Tripod."

"Two other people? Is that all?"

"Dean, do you want to find the guys in white coats waiting for you at the end of this voyage?"

"You said it yourself. Sailors are very superstitious. Half of them probably already believe in ghosts."

"Yeah, and half of those probably believe that ghosts are here to give us some cosmic message of peace and harmony!"

"Okay, so you go convert your boyfriend and I'll find us some candles."

"And you can't even add up properly. That would make three of us, not four."

She was right. This was going to take more time that he'd thought. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," she agreed.

xxx

Sara woke up early as always, her body still stuck in the school routine. But as she didn't have a bell ringing to get her up or any lessons to get to, she didn't feel too bad about not springing out of bed the moment she woke up. Rolling over, Sara kept her eyes closed but made a face as the black cord of her silver pendant half-choked her. It was a simple necklace, a silver spiral given to her by Dean for her seventeenth birthday.

In the year since Dean had given her the necklace, she'd barely taken it off. At school, it had been first a reminder that, yes, the whole thing with the cult had happened, and yes, she really was going to be trained as an exorcist at long last. Later on, when Dean had somehow managed to find time to send her letters and photos, to call just to chat to her, Sara's friends had, incorrectly, theorised that the silver spiral was some sort of lover's token. Her half-hearted attempts to explain that the necklace just made her feel better about everything had little effect.

With eyes still closed, Sara reached up to shift the necklace slightly. Her fingers brushed ice-cold flesh; Sara opened her eyes just as the necklace was torn from her neck.

"Jesus Christ!" she yelped.

The spiral hang from its cord in mid-air, with nothing apparently holding it there. But a childish giggle told her exactly what was going on.

She lunged for the necklace, which leapt just out of her reach and floated towards the door. It didn't go through it, however, but just waited there. Waiting for Sara to try again.

Sara bit back a curse and quickly found jeans, shoes and a jumper. She was not going to chase a ghost in her nightclothes, not even for her favourite necklace.

Dean stuck his head around the connecting door just as she finished dressing. "Sara? What that you who yelled?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

She gestured to the floating necklace as she found a hair tie with her other hand.

"Right," she said, firmly tying her long red hair back.

Stepping towards the necklace, Sara kept her eyes on it as it floated closer to the door.

"Hang on, isn't that the necklace I gave you?"

"Yeah, it is," Sara replied absently as the door creaked open and the necklace drifted through.

She followed it, Dean just behind her.

"Why is it floating?"

"Our darling albatross would be my guess," Sara offered. "I don't really care, I just want my necklace back. Preferably now."

Dean slipped in front of her and made a grab for the necklace, which one again was yanked just out of reach before carrying on along the corridor. Sara continued to walk after it, so Dean grabbed her arm.

"Wait, we don't even know if we should be following it," he said.

"I'm getting that necklace back, Dean, one way or another. You're still wearing that thing," she added, giving his amulet a flick when he gave her an exasperated look.

"Protective amulet," he said, pointing to the little brass head. "Trinket," pointing to the floating spiral.

"_Alleged _protective amulet," Sara retorted. "_Favourite _trinket."

"If you get me killed, I'm telling," he grumbled, following Sara who was following the necklace.

"Telling who, exactly? St Peter?"

Muttering about smart-aleck exorcists-in-training, and completely ignoring Sara's smirk, Dean made his way down corridors, and later down stairs, after the silver spiral with Sara walking just behind him. The last time she'd insisted on doing that, they had been making their way through an orchard with rotting corpses as decorations to deal with a murderous cult and rescue their parents. Which had, surprisingly, ended quite well, all things considered.

They walked through the ship for about twenty minutes before the necklace darted under a plain wooden door. Dean and Sara traded looks, and shrugs, before Dean tried the handle. The door was locked, but that was no problem for a young Hunter armed with a lock-pick.

"Better than a paper clip," he said at Sara's look.

"At least you've stopped asking me for hair pins," she replied as the lock clicked open.

"Well, after you."

Sara stuck her tongue out at him and pushed the door open, stepping cautiously inside. She felt along the wall for the light switch and flicked it on as Dean stepped in and shut the door.

The necklace dropped softly onto a box in the corner and the door reopened and slammed shut. Sara crossed the room and scooped it up, sighing with relief.

"That's better," she murmured, tying it back around her neck.

"You really like it that much?" Dean asked, shaking his head slightly.

Sara ignored the question, her attention fixed on the box. "Look at this, Dean. _The Louisiana, 1951-1958_," she read off the box's label.

"The records room," Dean realised. "Hey, Sara. Maybe Elizabeth Ward isn't trying to hurt you." He crouched down next to the box. "Maybe she's trying to show us something."

"She died in about '55," Sara offered. "At least, I think she did."

"Fits with this," Dean said, opening the box. It was filled with folders, each neatly labelled with a year. He pulled out the folder for 1955 and flicked through it. It seemed to contain mostly newspaper cuttings. "Here," he said, showing one to Sara. "Elizabeth Ward, fell overboard in 1955 on the voyage to New York."

"But we already knew that. Why would she show it to us?"

"Hang on," Dean said, scanning the rest of the article. "Listen to this. _This tragedy comes only six months after the last death aboard the _Louisiana."

"Last death?"

"Fifty-four, fifty-four," he muttered and dug out the next folder. And the next, and the next. "Fifty-four's missing."

"Figures." Sara leant back on her heels. "So I guess the Albatross is just playing games with us?"

"What kind of nickname is that for a kid on a boat anyway? I thought albatrosses were unlucky at sea," Dean said, packing the folders away again.

"Actually an albatross was a ship's good luck until..." Sara trailed off, shaking her head. "Oh, my god, Dean. Until somebody killed it."

Dean pulled the '55 folder out and found the article about the little girl once again. "It says here she came on board with her brother, Thomas Ward. See if you can find him anywhere," he said, gesturing at the other boxes and filing cabinets. "We need to know exactly what happened to her."

"What if someone did kill her? I mean, what can we do about it?"

"Well, if she's hanging around because her killer's still free, then she probably won't try and kill you, so we can just salt the rooms and relax."

"And what if she isn't just an unavenged murder?"

"Then we improvise."

"Oh, God."

"Hey!"

"Sorry, Dean, but last time we had a carefully formulated plan and look how well that went."

"Carefully formulated? I wanted to set fire to the church."

"We did that, remember?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Mum still hasn't forgiven you for that, by the way."

"Huh?"

"Corrupting me. She spent the rest of the summer hiding all the matches. And the salt, come to think of it."

Dean couldn't help it. He snorted, half choking on laughter. "You did burn down a church."

"You started it."

"Good times."

"God, and you object to being called a pyromaniac."

"Pyromaniacs go to meetings."

"Whatever." Sara slid one drawer of files shut and moved onto the next. "Huh. That's odd."

"Please, tell me you have something."

"Thomas Ward, commended in '57. And '58, '59, '61, '64, '65. And the list goes on."

"Commended? For what, letting his kid sister die?"

"Uh... Saving people."

Dean turned around from the boxes he had been searching. "Come again?"

"Stopped another kid falling overboard in '57. And noticed a safeguard was malfunctioning in '58 before it got anyone killed." Sara shook her head in amazement. "All the stuff we would look for in a haunting, only without the blood stains. This is why you didn't find anything on the ship. The ghost has been here the whole time, but he's stopped it hurting anyone."

"When's the last commendation?"

"Six months ago."

"He's probably still on board then. Let's go have a little chat."

"You go ahead. I think I'll go talk to James again, find out what Thomas is really like."

"Hey, be safe."

"You too, pyro."

xxx

A lot of innocent questioning, some charming smiles and a bit of flirting finally pointed Dean towards the right guy. The same old man, it turned out, who had helped him the day before. At any other time, that might have been surprising, but for a Hunter, there was no such thing as coincidence. Just Sod's Law.

Luckily there was no one else around. Dean wasn't really in the mood to tip-toe around anything.

"Heya, Tommy," he said cheerily. "Mind telling me what the hell's going on here?"

"Excuse me?" Thomas replied. "Aren't you the kid from yesterday?"

"Yep. Although slightly better informed this time around." Dean crossed his arms. "Now tell me, what the hell does your kid sister want with Sara?"

Thomas mouth, which had been hanging open in shock, snapped shut in a grim frown. "My sister's been dead for years. What's this about?"

"She was called 'Albatross', right? The same word appeared on Sara's mirror and as you've been covering up your warped sister's ghost for the last forty years, don't even start on the 'that's impossible' bullshit."

"On her mirror?" Suddenly Thomas wasn't pissed, just concerned. "You're sure?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Where is she?"

Growing up with John Winchester had taught Dean when it was important to just answer the damn question and argue about it later. "Went to find some kid, James Pearce. Why?"

Thomas broke into a run, but he was running to something, not away from Dean, so the teenager kept up with the sailor rather than decking him.

"James is on the rear deck," Thomas said, more to himself than to Dean.

"Which is where your sister died, shit!" Dean overtook Thomas.

The freaking hotspot, Sara had just walked off to the freaking hotspot and he already knew the ghost was focusing on her.

This was so not going to end well.

Dean ran faster.

xxx

Sara leant her arms on the railing, mimicking James posture. "You're kidding."

"Nuh-uh. I never lie to a pretty lady."

She dug her elbow into his side. "What did I say about charmers?"

"That wasn't charm," James said. "That was honesty."

"Right, of course."

"Sara! Sara, get away from the edge!"

Sara recognised Dean's voice and turned, frowning slightly. He was sprinting towards her, with some sailor apparently chasing him. _What the hell..._

"Get away from the edge!" he yelled again.

Trusting, if not understanding, Sara took a step forward.

A hand, invisible but worryingly solid, planted itself on her chest and _shoved. _

Sara stumbled back, her legs slamming into the railing, and the hand pushed again, bending her back over. She yelped and reached desperately for something to hang onto as she was shoved once more.

And suddenly Dean was there, grabbing her arms and yanking her away from the railing. The hand objected and switched grip, hanging onto her shoulder and pulling her back.

But Dean didn't let go and James seized Sara's other arm, tugging.

"Got any salt?" Dean asked Sara, tightening his grip. This ghost wasn't giving up and all three of them shifted closer to the edge.

Sara shut her eyes, lips moving soundlessly. Then her eyes snapped open again. "In nomine Dei, incende in Tartarum!"

The pressure stopped as suddenly as it had started and Dean toppled over, Sara landing on top of him.

Dean looked up at Thomas.

"We need to talk," the sailor said.

"No shit, Sherlock," Sara muttered. She was still shaking as she rolled off Dean and let James help her to her feet.

"What just happened?" he asked.

She patted him on the arm. "You just imagined it."

James frowned. "No, I didn't."

"Yeah, well, you'll have reasoned it away by tomorrow, so why waste time explaining?" Dean said, standing up.

"Huh?" James asked as Thomas led Dean and Sara away.

"Come on, boy," Thomas called back. "Unless you've already finished forgetting what you saw with your own two eyes?"


	3. Chapter 3

The four massed in an empty cabin. Sara sat on the bunk and. Dean sat next to her, a reassuring bulk between her and the two sailors. James sat on the table, feet resting on a chair, and Thomas leant against the door.

There was a long pause.

"Awkward," Dean murmured in Sara's ear, prompting a smile from the redhead. "So," he continued, more loudly. "You want to go first, or should I?"

"Who are you?" Thomas asked, crossing his arms. "What are you doing here?"

"Dean Winchester. And I'm just trying to get home with my friend here," he replied evenly. "But normally? I hunt demons."

James made a choking noise.

"Demon, ghosts, everything that ever scared you as a kid but people told you wasn't real," Dean continued. "And little Sara here? She's training to be an exorcist. We know your little sister is still around, Tommy. And she is _pissed_."

"It's not her," Thomas said, shaking his head.

"Uh, I did tell you about the mirror, didn't I?"

"The same thing happened to Lizzie," Thomas explained. "She told me about it and the next day, she drowned."

"The first death, remember?" Sara said. "Who was that?"

"Some... nutcase. Criminally insane, I think the term is. He'd been killing people across America, fled to England and kept killing. When he was caught, we were the only ship heading back to America anytime soon, so we had to take him."

"And he killed your sister?" James asked.

"He died maybe half a year before Lizzy."

"Doesn't mean anything," Dean said. "So he's hanging around here as well as your sister?"

"Uh... I guess so."

"And you can see your sister?" Sara asked.

"Sometimes. I thought I was going crazy, but when she started to warn me about stuff, real problems and dangers..."

"Fairly convincing," Dean commented. "So she's been helping you to outwit our psycho ghost."

"Why didn't she warn you about me?" Sara pointed out.

"She told me you needed my help," Dean said. "Maybe she knew what I do."

"So why me, then? I'm not anyone important," Sara protested.

"Well, uh, the guy, the crazy guy, he chose victims who were... unusual," Thomas said.

"Care to vague that up a bit for me?" Dean asked brightly.

"I mean, they were all... He claimed they were inhuman. Sort of, um, psychics, witches, seers. That sort of thing. And Lizzy, well, she knew things. Things she shouldn't have been able to know."

"Sara, your grandmother," Dean said, realising.

"Great, so now my genes are really going to get me killed," Sara said.

"Not if we kill him first."

"Whoa, whoa," James said. "How do you kill a ghost?"

"Traditionally, salt and burn the body. But, kinda not an option here. Sara?"

"We have to cleanse the ship. It's fairly simple, provided we have all the right supplies."

"Will that kill Lizzy as well?" Thomas asked.

"Depends," she replied. "I can get rid of everything. Or I can just focus on the evil ghost, but there's no guarantee that'll work."

"Come on, it's been, what, forty years?" Dean added. "Maybe it's time to let her move on."

"Move on to what?"

"Oh, that's not for me to say," Sara said. "But she doesn't belong here, you know that."

"Nor do people like you."

Sara grinned. "People like me don't belong anywhere."

"Look, the ship's being destroyed soon anyway. Once you're gone, who's to say the son of a bitch won't go after some ship-wrecker with ESP?" Dean said. "Or some part gets reused in another ship and he hurts even more passengers?"

Thomas didn't agree, but he didn't argue any more either. That would have to be good enough.

"What do you need?" Dean asked Sara.

"Holy water, some basic herbs, the usual," she replied. "Supplies in the Impala?"

"As always. Hey, James, can you get us down into the hold?"

The young man nodded. "Yeah, sure."

Sara hesitated as she passed Thomas. "I'll try to keep her out of it."

He looked resolutely at the floor. "Do what you have to."

"Uh, it might be better if you explain it to her, if you can." That got his attention. "When I start, she'll try to fight me. It's natural, she won't be able to help it. If she understands, it might not hurt her so much."

"Hurt her?"

"I'm trying to kick her out of this plane of existence. It's bound to be a little painful."

Thomas nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll try."

xxx

It was almost like old times, Dean thought, watching Sara rummaging through the Impala's trunk. Along with the basic and not-so-basic weaponry, John Winchester made sure that the standard ingredients for banishments and cleansings were always to hand. Last time, Sara had flung together charms to negate the effects of a compulsion, working from a step-by-step guide. This time, she had no notes but her hands were much more confident as she selected some items and pushed others aside.

"You little liar," Dean said, grinning. "You've been practising."

"I prefer to think of it as reading ahead," she replied absently. "Got any rosemary?"

"Look under the rifle. Does your mom know?"

"Suspects, probably. She gave me a load of things to memorise. And then, okay, I may have tried one or two out..."

"Such as?"

"I cleansed a second hand car for one of my friends."

"A _car_?" he repeated.

"We're on a haunted _ship_, Dean."

"Yeah, but that's traditional. Ghost ship, it's a classic."

"You know, one of these days, the Impala's gonna get possessed and then you'll be glad of me."

"Don't even joke about something like that. No demon's getting anywhere near my car."

She grinned at him. "Still can't believe Mr Winchester gave the damn thing to you." The enthusiastic phone call she'd received a few days after his twentieth birthday had largely revolved around the car.

"Hey, don't talk about my baby like that."

Muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'men', Sara went back to her searching. "Ah! Rosemary."

"So we're all set?"

"Guess so. A little Latin, a little willpower, a whole lot of smelly herbs."

"Something more scholarly than 'burn in hell' this time, ok?"

"Hey, I was about to be chucked overboard. I kinda had to improvise."

"About that..."

"Occupational hazard." Sara swept the chosen ingredients into her pockets. "You don't always have to worry about me, you know. I'm a big girl."

"You're, what, five foot?"

She rolled her eyes. "Git."

"Freak," he replied easily. The height thing _always _bugged Sara. Any good friend would let it go now. "Seriously, how can you be that short?"

"I'm not short. You're over-tall."

"Is that even a word?"

She propped her hands on her hips. "It is now. Are you quite finished yet? We still need to find the hotspot."

"The railing?"

"Nah, I think that's for the little girl. The guy might have died somewhere else, in which case..."

"That would be the hotspot, right." He glanced at his watch. "Look, we still haven't had anything to eat yet today. Let's grab some lunch, then go find Thomas and James and the hotspot. You keep below deck and we do the cleansing tonight."

"Sounds like a plan."

xxx

Dean kept a close watch of Sara for the next several hours. Keeping her off the deck wasn't a guarantee of her safety, not by a long shot. Ghosts tended to stick to a specific killing pattern, but there was always the exception, especially when one person in particular was targeted.

Sara perched on her bunk as Dean laid salt lines across the doors, measuring out herbs. "Pass me the fennel?"

He spotted the package on the table and gently lobbed it at her. "Nervous?"

"No more than usual when in your company."

"Want to try poker again?"

Sara grinned and hopped off the bed.

The next few hours passed slowly. Once they'd exhausted poker, they moved on to stress, a game which Dean knew but rarely played. Sara beat him thoroughly, grinning all the more innocently as he started to curse under his breath.

Deftly switching two cards, she leant back. "Stress."

Dean still had three piles to complete. "Freak."

"I've been playing this game constantly since I was eleven, Dean. I'd better be good at it."

"Lack of entertainment at school?"

"Understatement of the year. Stress was pretty much the only option when we were kids. Then," she shrugged. "Habit, you know?"

Dean had just started to teach her the rules of Winchester car games (everything from choosing which driver was most likely to be a demon to using car number plates to spell out monsters and ways to kill them) when someone hammered on the door.

He yanked it open to reveal James and Thomas. "Found the hotspot?"

"He hanged himself, in the ballroom."

"Did you talk to your sister?" Sara asked, gathering up the herbs she had prepared.

Thomas nodded. "She's going to stay out of our way."

"No guarantees, remember?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Ship's quiet?"

"As a tomb," said James and then winced at his choice of words.

"But so much prettier than a tomb," Sara remarked.

"How do you- No," Thomas said, shaking his head. "I don't want to know."

Dean grinned. "Well, if you're sure."

"I'm going to need you help," Sara said to the two sailors. "I'm using a Magnus Tripod to get rid of our killer ghost. I figure if I stand right in the hotspot and you three take up positions just outside the ballroom, we should be able to make this work."

"What? You in the hotspot?" Dean said. "No way."

"You got a better idea? We have to lure the ghost into the Tripod, or extend it to cover the whole ship, which would involve being fairly far apart from one another."

"If you get killed-"

"I won't. 'Sides, you'll be no more than a couple of metres away."

Dean sighed.

Thomas glanced from one to the other before speaking again. "What do we have to do?"

"Light a candle and stand where I tell you to. I'll be channelling the cleansing through the candle; you won't be in any danger. Well, at least not from what I'm doing."

"When you say cleansing," James asked hesitantly. "Do you mean a spell?"

Sara shook her head firmly. "Nope. Witches use spells, and I'm just an exorcist."

"Witches are just another type of demon," Dean added. "They can take human form, always female, but they're definitely not actual women."

"Charming," Thomas said dryly. "Shall we get this over with?"

xxx

In the ballroom, Sara stood in the dead centre of the room, right under a large, impressive chandelier.

"Have to say, the bastard had style," Dean commented, following her gaze to the mass of crystal above her head.

"I wonder what his deal was. I mean, hunting down the odder humans?"

"He was a nutcase, Sara."

"A fairly accurate one, though, if he managed to find Elizabeth."

"Theorise later, chant now," Dean said.

Sara didn't argue. The sooner this was over, the better as far as she was concerned. Using a piece of chalk, she drew a rough circle and then specific symbols around it, being more careful about those. A small tin dish was placed in the circle and the measured-out herbs dumped in the dish. With a box of matches in one hand, Sara looked at the three men. Each held a white candle.

"Just outside the doors, remember," she said. The ballroom had three doors leading out of it, forming the three points of a triangle. Sara loved it when the world was on her side for a change.

"Still don't like this," Dean muttered.

"So take the nearest one," she replied, pointing. "Keep the door open. James, Thomas, don't light the candle until I say so, and do not move from your spot, got it? No matter what you see or hear. Until I burn the herbs," she gestured to the bowl, "It's not over. All clear?"

And that was a new side to Sara, Dean realised. She hadn't given any orders the last time he'd seen her. It seemed her mother's agreement to train her had put a touch more steel into her.

"Good luck," he said.

"Watch your back," came the calm reply.

Sara stood just inside her chalk circle and waited until the others were all in their assigned places. Dean was straight ahead of her and offered her a smile, which she returned before taking a deep breath and closing her eyes.

Control, balance, power. Keep control, find your balance, get the power. Standard rules for any exorcism.

And a banishment was just another word for an exorcism. It was easier, but still risky. Fighting anything like this was more than just chucking some herbs and a bit of Latin out and hoping for the best. You had to use a bit of yourself, and if you were very lucky you got it back again at the end. But there was no great danger in this low-level work. When she started real exorcisms, that's when she'd need every scrap of determination and stubbornness.

She'd maintained her mental control over the past seven years. Breathing in, holding the breath, releasing. As she felt her body relax, Sara gathered up every doubt, fear, every scrap of _Sara _and stuffed them deep down inside.

What was left was pure Lucian.

"In nomine Dei," she whispered. "Adduce veritatum in lucem. Accipitat laura suam requiatam reposcant anima suum regnam. In nomine Dei."

Dean had his lighter ready for when Sara gave the signal, so he allowed his gaze to dart across the ballroom. It was a fairly lengthy ritual, and Sara had to repeat the words several times, giving the ghost plenty of time to make a surprise appearance.

"Iubeo te, in nomine Dei, abire. Eicio te ex hinc. In nomine Dei. Adduce-"

The chandelier creaked loudly.

Sara glanced up. "Adduce veritatum in lucem."

And again.

"Sara!"

She waved at him to stay in place and kept chanting. "Accipitat laura suam requiatam reposcant anima suum regnam. In nomine Dei." Gulping some air down, she nodded. "Light them!"

The chandelier dropped.

Sara flung herself to one side, arms wrapped over her face as crystals shattered across the floor.

The three sets of doors slammed shut.

xxx

_Reviews are hugely appreciated..._


	4. Chapter 4

4xxx

Dean flicked the lighter on, used the flame to melt the end of the candle and stuck it to the floor with sticky wax before lighting the other end.

Then he straightened. He didn't waste time trying the door but brought his foot up and slammed it into the double doors. Once, twice.

"Oh, come on!"

A third kick splintered the doors enough to make the lock pointless and Dean dived forward, shouldering the broken doors open. Immediately, he ducked as several crystals were lobbed at his head.

He shielded his face with one hand and moved forward, more crystals thudding against his upheld arm.

Oh, he had been so right about this being a bad idea.

Sara was on her knees, trying to scoop fallen herbs back into the bowl. He could hear her chanting still.

When the ghost manifested behind her back, Dean was close enough to hurl salt at the bloody thing. Few people walked around with a pocket full of salt, but Dean had always preferred overkill to being killed, and had learnt from his earlier mistake on the deck. The ghost, a seriously manic looking old man, vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"Keep going!" Dean yelled at Sara. "Hey, Thomas! The candles!"

"Done!" The shout, made up of both James' and Thomas' voices, reassured Dean somewhat, as did the rattling of the other doors.

"Iubeo te, in nomine Dei, abire." Sara dumped more herbs into the bowl. "Eicio te ex hinc. In nomine Dei."

Dean watched for the ghost, eyeing the air for the telltale shimmers. "Don't suppose you could hurry up a little bit?"

Whatever Sara was going to say was lost as she shoved Dean over just as the heavy log book from the display shot past. An ancient and extremely large compass smashed itself into the side of her head. She collapsed on her side, blood pooling from her temple.

"Sara!"

Dean tried to get to her, but an arm wrapped around his neck and squeezed.

"The unfaithful will burn," hissed a voice in his ear. "God commands it!"

His first reaction – slamming an elbow back to connect with the spirit's ribs – had little effect but to make the arm squeeze tighter. Never one to be easily deterred, Dean struck back again as his other hand reached into his pocket full of salt. Throwing salt over your left shoulder was meant to get rid of bad luck, but it also worked pretty well to get rid of murderous ghosts.

But even once the ghost had dissipated once more, Dean had a problem. Sara had started the banishing – only Sara could finish it. And she was unconscious and bleeding. This was why Dean, along with most Hunters, would always go for a salt-and-burn rather than a ritual. Too much could go wrong.

He shook Sara. "Wake up, you lazy little-"

Sara muttered something in reply.

"What was that?" he asked, shaking her again.

"...Piss off," she murmured.

"Oh, I will," Dean said, dragging her into a sitting position. "Just as soon as you get off your ass and do your damn job!" And yeah, it felt a bit odd to be yelling at Sara, but he'd do just about anything to get her moving again. "You want to be an exorcist? Then damn well exorcise!"

"You really think one of them can save you?"

Dean reached for the salt again, but his arm was grabbed and twisted tightly behind his back.

"She blights the world with her very presence," the ghost said into his ear, pulling him away from Sara, who slumped back down. "As do you. The corrupt must be purified."

Dean had been right. This guy _was _a nutcase"Yeah, whatever," he said as he twisted and struggled.

His other arm was wrenched back and his wrists tied together, despite all his attempts to get free again. Dean shivered as the ghost lightly drew a cross on the back of his neck.

"Oh, you son of a bitch!" Dean yelled as a Goddamn _noose_ was draped around his neck. "Sara, wake the hell up right now!"

The noose was tightened sharply, yanking his head up. Dean was on tip-toes, weight just barely on his feet.

"May the Lord have mercy on your soul."

"You first, you sick bastard!" Dean choked out. Okay, not his best line ever, but he was being hung for God's sake.

His feet scrabbled to support him as the rope inched higher. The ghost was suddenly in front of him, grinning sadistically. With a last surge of effort, Dean spat in the ghost's face. Hell, he'd rather die fighting in any way possible than begging for anything. The patented Winchester way.

Dimly, as he started to black out, Dean thought he could hear chanting.

The rope around his neck vanished. Dean crashed into the floor, legs buckling, his hands free again. Panting for breath and rubbing a seriously sore neck, he sat up.

Tired green eyes looked back at him. Sara, blood still trickling down her face, was crouched next to the bowl of burning herbs. She'd finished the banishment.

"Thanks," he said.

"You're welcome," she replied and would have fallen flat on her face if Dean hadn't jerked forward to catch her.

"Hey, no falling asleep," he said firmly, pushing her away until he could see her face again. "You must be the first exorcist in history to get brained by a compass."

"You're the one who brought me onto a ghost ship complete with psycho killer," Sara grumbled. "Mr Winchester is going to be so annoyed with us."

"You gotta be kidding, Sara," Dean said, standing up and pulling her up with him. "He'll be pretty proud. You've been out of your normal life for three days, and you've already killed a spook."

"Yay. New record," Sara said as Thomas burst in.

"Are you both alright?" he demanded, taking in the ruined chandelier, the blood on Sara's face and red marks on Dean's neck.

"Peachy," Dean replied.

"You'd better both get out of here before someone comes," James said, entering from his door and tossing a half-burnt candle away. "We can cope with this."

Dean doubted that, but it wasn't the time to argue. He kept one arm firmly wrapped around Sara and guided her out of the ruined ballroom. Whatever story was created to cover up a chandelier inexplicably crashing to the floor should be worth listening to, though, for the comic value if nothing else.

"Miss?" Thomas asked. "What about my sister?"

Sara shook her head and winced slightly. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

"Come on," Dean said. "Let's get you cleaned up."

As they made their slightly unsteady way down the corridor, Dean heard James asked the classic question of, "What the hell do we say about this?" It was nice for someone else to deal with the clean-up, Dean had to admit. With most of the world blessedly unaware of what was really going on, it was best not to draw attention to yourself unless you wanted to get up close and personal with a padded cell, but trying to cover up whatever it was you'd done whilst bruised and bloody was not a good way to end the day.

Back in Sara's cabin, Dean cleaned and checked the impressive lump on the side of her head.

"You know," she said tiredly. "I'm starting to see a pattern here."

Dean wasn't entirely sure whether Sara would be able to talk sense or not. "And what's that?" he asked.

"The first time we work together, I nearly get shot by a pissed off cultist. The second, an insane killer ghost tries to drown me and lobs a giant compass at me."

"And you think this is my fault?"

"Oh, no. I _know _it's your fault."

Dean shook his head. "Uh-uh. I am innocent. For once. Anyway, I was hung!"

"Yeah, but I saved your ass."

"You so did not save me," he argued, grinning.

"So did."

"That blow to the head has made you delusional, my little Lucian. You should sleep it off."

Sara obediently kicked her shoes off and curled up on her bed. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you not call me that?"

From the tiredness in Sara's voice, Dean knew that the normal self-censoring that everyone did before they spoke wasn't on. And he couldn't help but ask:

"Little Lucian? Why not?"

"Gran called me that." She shifted, getting comfortable. "Hate it."

"Why?"

But Sara was too far gone to answer and only mumbled an undecipherable response.

"Good night, Sara," Dean said softly, snapping off the light.

xxx

The official story for the destruction of the ballroom was one of the silliest Dean had ever heard.

"Weather anomalies?" he repeated.

Thomas nodded. "Combined with the age and ill-repair of the chandelier-"

"Never mind that we had a team checking it over just before we set off," James interrupted.

"Logic is fairly optional at this point," Sara said. "It's not as if they'd even think of the real reason. After all, the _Louisiana _has never been known for its ghosts."

"Speaking of ghosts, have you seen your sister yet?" Dean asked Thomas.

The old man shook his head. "Nothing. She might just be annoyed with me. It wouldn't be the first time she's ignored me."

Sara shrugged. "Well, with the other ghost gone, she might not have a reason to hang around. She was trying to stop him hurting anyone else. Her purpose might be done."

"So it is over, right?" James asked.

"Yep. But, just to make sure, we'll track the son of a bitch's body down and burn it," Dean said.

"Sara was right," James said. "You _are _a pyromaniac."

Dean heard Sara kick James under the table even as her ears went bright red.

"That wasn't exactly what I said," she protested as he mock-glared at her.

"Pretty close," James muttered, rubbing a sore leg.

"Traitor," Sara shot back at him as she stood up.

"Where you going?" Dean asked. Surely Sara wasn't going to storm off in a huff.

She grinned at him, completely demolishing that idea. "Just to sort some things out. See you later."

"Odd girl," Thomas remarked when she had left.

"Nah, she's pretty normal. Well, for an exorcist," Dean added with a smirk.

"Do I even want to know what an abnormal exorcist is like?"

"Probably not."

xxx

Sara returned an armful of folders back in the Record's Room, being careful to sort each one into the right box. Now that the second ghost was gone, she spotted that the folder from '54 was back where it should be.

Morbidly curious, Sara flicked through it. Luke Collins, late fifties, apparently slaughtered over four dozen people in America before fleeing to England in 1954, killing another three people before being caught and extradited back to America. On the way back, he had hung himself in the ballroom of the _Louisiana_. And then, six months later, he'd killed little Lizzy Ward, although of course the newspapers didn't report that. Thomas Ward had been right about Collins' chosen victims though. Collins seemed to have thought he was on some sort of divine quest, and targeted seers, psychics, all the slightly not-human humans that you could find in the world.

"Sorry, Lizzy," Sara murmured, tucking the last folder away. "Sucks to be odd."

"I rather enjoyed it, actually."

Sara turned to see the ghost of Elizabeth Ward sitting on one of the other boxes. "So you are still around."

"You sent the bad man away."

"Yeah, I did. Little late for you, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I always knew I would never grow up," Lizzy said, and although she still looked about eleven, she sounded a lot older. "At least this way I can keep an eye on Tommy."

"Don't you want to move on, or something?" Sara asked tentatively. "I mean, you don't have to save anyone else from Collins anymore."

She narrowed her eyes at Sara. "You don't think I should stay."

"Sorry, but you _are_ dead, after all. What's dead should stay gone, far as I'm concerned."

"True enough. But one day you'll change your mind. When his heart bleeds."

Sara jerked around. "What?"

"Fire and brimstone, endured at all cost, to safeguard the only good thing you know. You will pay the ultimate price for one you do not love. And the earth will tremble at his rage."

And the ghost of the little girl was gone.

Sara stood silently for a moment. What the hell had that been about? There was a reason everyone hated seers – they were also so damn cryptic. With a final sigh, she snapped off the light and left.

To hell with seers. She'd make her own destiny.

xxx

That night, Dean found Sara back on the deck, staring out across the dark ocean. But not the rear deck this time. Sara was looking forward.

"We'll be able to see New York by morning," she said.

He didn't ask how she knew it was him. "Should look nice. Be better at night, but..."

"You know, I've never been to New York. In England, you say 'America' and everyone think of New York. I've just seen bits of Wisconsin."

"Well, this was meant to be a sort of break for us, you know," Dean said casually. "And as we have been working, we could spend some time in the Big Apple. If you wanted. Go shopping or something."

"That suggestion better not be because I'm a girl, Dean."

Dean was grinning now, in a way which Sara recognised as a warning sign. The last time she'd seen that particular smile, he told her the burning down a church 'could be seen as disruptive'.

"Nah, trust me on this," he said.

"Ok," she replied easily. Trusting Dean was, as her mother put it, a little too easy. "But if Mum freaks, I'm blaming you."

"I can live with that."

"You really are crazy, aren't you?"

"I've spent my whole life dealing with the monsters under the bed. I think I can handle your mother, Sara."

She shrugged. "Your neck. How is it, by the way?"

"Oh, it's good. Feels like an insane spook tried to hang me, but..."

"Thanks."

Dean blinked. "For what?"

"For coming to get me."

"And for getting us both onto a haunted ship where you fit the victim profile?" Dean asked jokingly.

"And for trusting me to be able to deal with it," Sara corrected softly. "You could've... I mean, if you'd taken control, I would've understood."

"I don't mess with rituals. Make me twitchy," he said. "'Sides, you're the one who's a Lucian. I just shoot things."

"Still," Sara said, shrugging, apparently at a loss for what to say and finally settling on a quiet, "Thanks anyway."

Dean understood where she was coming from. Acceptance, not as a person but as a Hunter, as someone who was trustable and competent and useful, that was important. Even Sammy, who hated hunting, longed for that kind of vote of confidence from Dean and from their father. Being told by someone you respected that you had done well, that was worth a lot of bruises and hurt.

But that Sara would feel like that about Dean's words and actions...

"You did well," he said finally. "Just like last time."

"Last time," Sara repeated with a chuckle. "Cults and ghosts? This is going to be one hell of a weird friendship, isn't it?"

"Interesting, though." Dropping one arm around her shoulders, Dean steered Sara away from the railing. "Come on, James is throwing a party below deck. Let's celebrate."

xxx

Thomas sat in his room, alone, in the dark. James had invited him to his little party on the floor below, but Thomas was an old man, tired, and had no desire to make a fool of himself in front of the kids.

The kids. A girl still in her teens and a boy barely any older. And somehow, they knew what was going on, knew how to fight it, and they did it with a song in their heart. Even when little Sara herself had been threatened, the pair of them had never complained, never once said 'it's not fair' or 'why us?'.

Odd kids, certainly, and he probably shouldn't be calling them 'kids' either, but seeing them working like that... What the hell, it had been pretty inspiring.

It had been a long time since Thomas had really been a big brother. Fifty years without a little sibling to watch over made it hard to refer to yourself as such. But he still recognised the signs and had had Dean down as a big brother from the first time he had seen the boy. But he doubted Sara was his sister, with her red hair and English accent. Dean was definitely used to watching over someone, however. Whoever the kid was, hopefully Dean would be a better big brother than Thomas had been for Lizzy.

"You did well enough," Lizzy said, resting one small, cold hand on his shoulder. "You believed in me. Fairly literally. That was more than enough."

"Is the other ghost gone? Really gone?" he asked her. He's long ago grown used to her darting into existence without so much as a moment's notice.

"Really gone," she said, smiling.

"That little girl said that you might... go now that he was gone."

"Do you want me to?"

"I want you to be safe and happy, Liz," Thomas replied. "I want to look out for you."

"One day, Tommy. But not now," Lizzy said. "The _Louisiana _dies when we reach New York. And no one else is going to get hurt."

"Lizzy-"

"Live on land, Tommy. And I'll see you again one day. I promise."

The tears in Thomas' eyes spilled over and when he could see again, Lizzy was gone. And this time he could tell she wouldn't be coming back.

"Goodbye, little sister," he whispered to the empty room.

xxx

_18__th__ July_

_Grant County, Wisconsin_

_Taken from the Diary of Sara Lucian _

Okay, I know it's tradition and all, but how is it that Hunters have journals and exorcists have to have _diaries? _I mean, it sounds so... silly. At least 'journal' sounds professional.

And this diary would probably seem more professional if I wasn't whinging like a little girl.

Right. Business.

[NB – write up the cleansing of the _Louisiana. _Remember the little details – and check up on spirits communicating with loved ones. Floating in salt water ≠ spirit banishment, apparently. Direct contact needed?

Dean Winchester got me home safe and sound, after introducing me to a weapons' dealer called Caleb in New York. He also remembered my birthday – although I doubt Mum would approve of his gift, the same Colt Python revolver that he lent me last year, when we fought the cult. But Lord knows it'll be useful. We didn't really say goodbye, as he was keen to be getting back to his family, and he just told me, 'Being on good terms with the next exorcist will be damn useful, so don't think you get away that easily'.

I know how the Lucians have always worked. Alone, solitary, not to mention aloof and arrogant. But having a few Hunters on my side can't be a bad thing. Especially not Hunters who have always lived in the real world, who I know I can trust.

But enough about Hunters. I started training as an exorcist today. After several centuries, the Lucians know how to train the next generation, so Mum has a fairly solid plan to follow. The only complication is that I missed out on seven years of the plan. So she decided to test me, by summoning a low-level entity and seeing what I tried to do.

Any half-way decent Lucian would attempt a banishing, some Latin or Greek, something powerful.

I tried to break its nose.

What can I say? I am not going to be a typical Lucian. I'm not going to rely on words and false faith and unexplained traditions. And I did redeem myself by banishing the thing properly after my fist passed through its nose.

The oddest thing was that Mum wasn't even surprised. Hell, I don't even think she was really angry. It's like she wants me to be different.

And being different?

That's one thing I'll always be good at.

xxx

That's the end, folks, so please review!


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